


i was your first taste / would you be my last

by heyitsathrowaway



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Choking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 05:57:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11155659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsathrowaway/pseuds/heyitsathrowaway
Summary: Bruises are fascinating. Samot, new to this form, is the only one who notices. They linger, a deliciously mortal aspect of a decidedly immortal existence.





	i was your first taste / would you be my last

**Author's Note:**

> ANYWAY.......

Samothes' hands fit around Samot's throat like they're meant to be there. Samot tips his head back against them. He's spread out across their bed, hair fanned out against the sheets, Samothes a heavy weight across his thighs. 

He doesn't usually take the time to notice the deep brown of Samothes' eyes, the depth of feeling that they hold. Right now, he can look at nothing else. Samothes' hands are loose, for now, stroking over the soft skin at Samot's throat, calloused and gentle. Samot loves Samothes' hands, always, no matter what they're doing: gripping the hilt of a blade or fucking Samot open or digging into his skin hard enough to bruise.

Bruises are fascinating. Samot, new to this form, is the only one who notices. They linger, a deliciously mortal aspect of a decidedly immortal existence. 

"They tell you what's underneath your skin," Samot explained to Samothes once, sprawled out lazily half on the couch and half atop Samothes, most of the way through a bottle of wine. "They tell you what's yours." 

"And what's yours?" Samothes asked, carding his hand through Samot's hair.

"Myself. My bones and my blood," Samot told him. He reached up to wrap his fingers in Samothes' hair, scratching at his scalp. "And you." They had not done much more talking after that.

Now, Samothes presses his thumbs up against Samot's jaw, forcing his head back, exposing his throat. It takes everything Samot has not to resist the vulnerability of the position, the skin-crawling danger of it. He rests one hand against Samothes' back, and the other lays beside his head, limp and unmoving. 

Samothes tightens his grip, pressing down, pulling a choked off gasp from Samot before he can't get any more air.

It hurts. Even as his eyes water, Samot keeps them open so that he can watch Samothes, the firm tilt to his mouth and the wideness of his eyes, the hint of fear in them coupled with desire. He can only keep himself from struggling for so long. The hand at Samothes' back curves, his fingernails biting deep into Samothes' skin, running all the way down his back. Samothes grips him harder.

The bruises around his neck are going to be spectacular: deep purples and blues and blacks, tender to the touch. Samot tries to kick out with his legs, but Samothes has him too firmly pinned. His vision is starting to soften at the edges, and he can feel every beat of his heart, ringing like a bell in his head. Samothes leans in closer so that he can kiss Samot's slack mouth. His hands still cradle Samot's neck like a vice. 

Samot can feel, more than ever, the rush of blood under his skin, tethering him to the material world. Color rises high in his cheeks, making his face burn.

When Samot brings his other hand up to Samothes' chest, Samothes releases him. The first gasp of air feels like it rubs his throat raw. Nothing has ever felt so good. Samothes is cupping his face, wiping the tears from his eyes, murmuring words into Samot's skin that he doesn't try to understand. Every part of him feels swollen and heavy, filled to the brim with life. 

"You should see yourself like this," Samothes is saying, when his words stop slipping through Samot's fingers like water. "You look beautiful."

Samot laughs, a rusty sound from his wrecked throat. He smiles with too many teeth. _I'm always beautiful_ , he doesn't say, as he flips them over and lunges to straddle Samothes. He feels feral, a wolf again, as he bends his head and bites his way from Samothes' chest to his collarbone to his neck. His own throat throbs, a warm and satisfying ache, one that will last for days. Samothes winds a hand through Samot's hair where it spills over them both. He grips it tight, giving Samot something to pull against.

Samot shivers. He can feel Samothes hard against his hip. He leans down, his elbows on either side of Samothes' head, and he kisses him deeply as he squirms, rubbing himself against Samothes' stomach. Samothes presses a hand to the curve of his back and another against his ass, thrusting up against him, angling Samot so that he can move against Samothes' thigh. 

Samothes pulls back from Samot's mouth and kisses his way messily to his ear. The words he's whispering resolve themselves into something Samot can understand: _yes, please, let me see you--_

With another ragged gasp, Samot shudders, spilling against Samothes' thigh. Samothes kisses him, consumingly, thrusting against him. Samot feels weak at the knees, his skin oversensitive and aching. He bears down against Samothes, whimpering into his mouth as his cock presses into the join of Samothes' thigh. He can feel Samothes' moan, bone-deep, as he comes at the sound. 

Samothes gathers Samot carefully into his arms, paying no mind to the mess between them. Samot's thoughts still feel hazy, like seeds floating on the wind, just out of his reach. He traces mindless patterns on Samothes' chest. 

Samothes runs a hand up from Samot's stomach to his neck, fingers barely brushing against him. He presses his thumb down against Samot's throat, rubbing at the skin there. Samot whines, tucking his face into Samothes' shoulder, digging his fingernails into his chest. Every part of him feels raw and open, from his skin to his soul. 

"I've got you," Samothes says. He does: he surrounds Samot, from the marks on Samot's skin to his leg hooked over Samot's own, his hand wound through Samot's hair. Samot is present, and tethered. A creature of blood, so much so that it shows on his skin. He kisses Samothes' throat and bites down, worrying at it until he's sure it will leave a mark. 

With a hum that rumbles through his chest, Samothes cups Samot's cheek, his thumb against Samot's bottom lip. Samot closes his eyes and bites at that, too. Samothes slips two of his fingers past his lips, pressing down against his tongue. Samot breathes out a high sound as he sucks on them, huge and warm in his mouth. He thinks about sucking Samothes off later, taking his cock into his aching throat, the reverent way that Samothes will touch the ring of bruises around his neck. For now, he contents himself with the salt of Samothes' skin for a few more minutes, before he releases his fingers with one last kiss against the pad of Samothes' thumb.

He runs his hand over the bitemark beginning to show on Samothes' collarbone, over the long deep scratches running down Samothes' back. His satisfaction must be showing on his face, because Samothes chuckles. "Happy?" he asks, voice fond.

Samot props his head on his hand and smirks. His mind feels clearer. "Aren't you?"

Smiling, just a little, Samothes reaches out and traces one finger along Samot's neck. His eyes are very dark. Samot's breath hitches. "Very," he says.

Samot pushes him over and kisses him. Samothes laughs, and it shakes through both him and Samot like a living thing.


End file.
